Harry Potter: Entropy
by AzardBrazul
Summary: What are you prepared to do for the people you love? How far are you prepared to go? Harry Potter and his Horcrux both died in the forbidden forest, and both woke up. Chronicles the events proceeding the war, and the inevitable end of the wizarding world. Dark!Independent!Harry. Remorseful!Riddle. Badass!Ron Features Death/Didi from Sandman.
1. Prologue

**AN. I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER! JKR DOES.**

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><p><strong><span>Prologue:<span>**

Bushy brown hair, falling around his face, tickling His neck as he held her in the tent.

That's all he can seem to think of... even here at the very end. He saw Voldemort, his head cocked to the side, sizing him up like a new toy or a bad haircut... hair... bushy brown hair.

"Harry Potter... The boy who lived"

He's contemplating what to do, Harry noticed vaguely... Why was it all so vague? why did he feel that her brilliant smile when he complemented her for the first time was more real than his impending death?.. Brilliant smile with her cute buck teeth and dimples. "_God, I'm in love with her_!_ I love her so much_!"

Voldemort was raising his wand now... preparing himself... for whatever that came next... after Harry died.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She haunted him, even here at the end. Her voice springing to life as he exhaled "_Me? Books and cleverness. There are more important things: friendship and bravery. And Harry, just be careful._" Her trembling lips offering a small comforting smile. "_I love you Hermione_!_ And I'm so sorry_."

"Avada Kedavra"

His eyes snapped open as He heard the first half of the incantation, then for a split second time froze. He and Voldemort stood there at the center of the clearing, Voldemort's wand was pointed at harry, a ray of green light bathing both of them in an emerald light. In that split second he saw himself in Voldemort. What he could, should and would be. Their lives were practically identical, only he had loved and lost. but Voldemort had not loved at all, never felt the beast roaring to life deep in his heart. He felt truly sorry for him then... divine humor, pity the man who just killed you! A smile forming Harry broke the moment and stepped forth to meet the ray of green light

The curse hit him square on his heart and Harry spun backwards at the force of it, landing spread-eagled on the mossy forest earth with an almighty thud. A content smile had curled itself on his handsome features and his eyes were staring happily at the stars that dotted the sky above, only the light had left his green eyes leaving them empty and vacant.

Harry Potter was dead.


	2. The Grand Tent

**AN. Harry Potter IS NOT MINE. JKR beat me to it!**_  
><em>

Chapter 1 - The Grand Tent

_The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Shepard of the light... They called me all that, and more. Parading me through their streets. And me being the fool I am, got caught up in it. Promised them that I would succeed, Promised her that I would return, stole hearts that weren't mine to steal, broke promises that weren't mine to break, and killed people that, frankly weren't meant to be killed. After all this time, I can't help but wonder..._

_When they look upon me now, do they see a monster?_

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><p>He lay face down, listening to the sobbing. He was not alone. Somebody was crying and for the life of him the only one he could think of was Hermione. He wasn't completely sure where he was, maybe it was his funeral and Hermione was sobbing by his casket? No. That was too cruel. He dispelled the thought and like water flowing off a tile the sobbing faded. The silence was oddly comforting.<p>

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it occurred to him that he _must _exist, must be more than a disembodied thought, because he could feel his cheek pressed, on a cool surface. Therefore he must have a sense of touch, and the thing he was lying against existed too.

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Oddly this didn't concern him, even though he could still hear the sobbing, it was muted as if he was listening from the wrong side of a closed door. But it did intrigue him, he wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.

He lay in a bright, turbulent mist, though it was not like any mist he had experienced before. His surroundings were being formed by a cloudy vapor that swirled and shifted a short ways off, as if it had met an invisible wall on the path of its flow. The floor on which he lay seemed to resemble marble, with an intricate pattern consisting of thin gold, silver, maroon, and green lines weaving itself from the wall of mist, trickling over the marble surface, as far as Harry could see.

He sat up. His body seemed unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore. His fingers dappled on his forehead. He had no scar.

Then the sobbing grew, as if the door had been thrown open. The person crying was dragging long deep breaths. Harry could almost feel their shoulders shuddering. It was a heartbreaking noise, yet also slightly provocative. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something private, Intimate.

For the first time he wished he was clothed.

Barely had the wish formed in his head, than tendrils of the low hanging mist wrapped around him, covering everything below his jaw. It felt comfortably warm. When the mist dissipated shortly after, he was clothed In robes of deep green velvet. It was extraordinary how they had appeared , Just like that, the moment he had wanted them...

He stood up, looking around. The wall of mist seemed to have disappeared. Was he in some great room of requirement? The more he looked there was more to see. A huge canopy, that somehow seemed dark green and then the deepest maroon the moment later, stretched, high above him, as far as he could see. Well, at least until the swirling mist in the fringes of his vision swallowed it up. Perhaps it was a huge circus tent. All was hushed and still, except for those deep drawn-out sobs coming from somewhere close by in the mist...

Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to form themselves before his eyes. A wide open space , bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that, now maroon, canopy overhead. It was quite empty. he was the only person there, except for -

He started. A boy no older than him sat on his knees, crouched over the marble floor a few paces in front of him. He was robed in the same deep green as harry, and as his shoulders shuddered when he gasped for air Harry noticed a golden lion stitched on his loosed lapels. Inclining his head slightly, harry found a silver snake on his own.

He felt sorry for him. whoever this boy was. He was crying so hard that his breath now seemed ragged. He drew slowly nearer, ready to back off at any moment. Soon he stood in front of the boy. His hand outstretched and clasped the boy's shoulder as he would have Ron, to reassure him. The boy abruptly stopped sobbing. Sapping all noise from their shared domain. Harry could feel the boy's shoulder tense under his hand and he squeezed it comfortingly. The boy slowly raised his drooping head and locked eyes with harry.

Tom Riddle stared back at him.

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><p><strong>AN. I really didn't want to stop here, but I'd just completed Mass Effect 3. Undergoing crippling depression because of the ending at the moment. Trying to watch something funny to feel better, but it just wont work :SIGH: but don't worry I'll have the next chapter up by Monday night<strong>


	3. The Sound of Her Wings

**Harry Potter does not belong to me, Its JKR's. Mistborn does not belong to me, it's Brandon Sanderson's. Sandman does not belong to me, It's Neil Gaiman's. Though the new Ideas and plot twists do belong to me, I guess o.O anyway! I make NO profit out of this.**

Chapter 2 - The Sound of Her Wings

_I consider myself to be a man of principle. But, what man does not? Even the cutthroat, I have noticed, considers his actions "moral" after a fashion._

_Perhaps another person, reading of my life, would name me a tyrant. He could call me arrogant. What is to make that man's opinion any less valid than my own?_

_I guess it all comes down to one fact: In the end, I'm the one with the armies._

_- Mistborn: The Final Empire_

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><p>Hermione Granger whipped her wand through the air, spinning in the middle of the Great Hall, her mind a blur, her senses awash with the thrill of battle. Beside her, Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom Swung their wands like swords at the scurrying Death Eaters as they insistently pushed and pulled at her, in an attempt to get her out into the corridors. Draco had his hand in hers, and was in the process of dragging her out towards the hall entrance. Red, blue and green light bloomed from the tip of his wand, while behind her, Neville's flashed shades of violet and azure.<p>

Harry Potter had come to see him, before this shitstorm had taken wing, Potter had found him and Longbottom while they were dragging bodies back to the Great Hall. He had stood there, staring at the face of Colin Creevey. After what seemed like years, potter had turned to face them. "She won't understand, Draco," Potter had then placed a hand on his shoulder, and he'd tried his best not to flinch. "She _can't_ understand. She will want to be in the middle of it. _You _must get her away from it." Then he'd turned and addressed Longbottom. Draco didn't understand why Potter wanted _him_ to get granger to safety, but he supposed it must be some stupid exercise in redemption to Potter's eyes.

Several rays of blue light bloomed over Granger's head, Draco ducked, pulling her down with him. His wand arm whipped out in front of him and the Death Eater crumpled in a blaze of red light, almost disjointedly Draco could make out the sound of beating wings, he didn't have the time to wonder what _that_ meant."_COME ON!_ Granger, I gave him my word that I would get you to safety, and that's what I Intend to do." His blond hair whipped around his face as he shouted over the noise of battle, behind her Neville pushed her in acquiescence. "And, where the fuck is Weasley?"

"Let me go. Malfoy, let me go!" She screamed, tugging at his vice-like grip. _I need to get to Harry_. "I need to find him" Her throat was dry, parched from screaming orders, this side of Hogwarts. That was what he had told them, her and Ron, to take charge of the battle. "I need to find him!" she whispered hoarsely.

Draco Malfoy grimaced, his handsome features contorting with fear, guilt and harrowing sadness. "Face it Granger, there's only one reason they're pushing like this and it sure as Merlin isn't because the Dark Lord hasn't killed Potter already!." His hands and feet slipped on the glassy marble floor, as he scrambled with her and Neville over the dismembered corpses that were strewn pell-mell over it. He still didn't know how he felt about that, about Potter. Potter had saved him, had saved them all in his own way, true, but he still felt that twinge of rejection that followed him round like an old lover.

"NO!" Neville Longbottom heard Hermione scream, and hastily gave her back a push, as he set Dawlish on fire with a quick _incendio_. "_Kill the snake_." Those words were etched onto the back of his mind, repeating over and over again drowning out Dawlish's screams. As he pushed Hermione over a congestion of rubble and tumbled over it himself, he pondered, what it meant. Ron had disappeared with Luna, halfway through the battle, and with Hermione positively blinded by vengeance, the task fell to him, as per Harry's final orders. Merlin! he needed to stop thinking like Harry was already dead!. In front of him, Malfoy dragged Hermione through the splayed oak doors of the Great Hall. Breathing deep, Neville Longbottom followed them out.

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><p>Ron Weasley was crouching in the destroyed ruins of what once was the Hogwarts infirmary. He was trembling, clutching Luna Lovegood to himself as he desperately tried to heal the deep gash on her side<em>. "I lost Fred, I am NOT going to lose you too!"<em> He whispered as if it was a spell as he tried in vain to mend the wound. Luna gasped, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, snaking its way down her cheek. Her body jerked, making him drop his wand, as he scrambled to hold her still.

"Luna?" He whispered after the spasms subsided. She moaned, then cracking open her eyes, drawing long wheezing breaths through her half-opened mouth. "Ron?"

At the sound of her voice so twisted and pained, the dam Ron Weasley had so carefully built, since he had been a simple boy growing up with five brothers, shattered. Laying his forehead on hers, he sobbed. Covering her hands in his, and entwining their fingers he gently squeezed hers, and captured her lips with a soft kiss.

"Ronald, don't cry, the Nargles might alert the death eaters!" She whispered, freeing a hand and trying to wipe off his tears. Ron choked, a smile breaking in opposition to his tears."Luna.." he whispered, touching the tip of his nose to hers. "Ronald, I'm most probably going to die..." Ron made a sound halfway between a growl and a moan. "Luna, don't say that." His voice had a dangerous edge to it. Luna smiled and moved her face so that her face lay comfortably in the crook of his neck. "Ronald... I really am probably going to die, and I want you to keep on going, long after I'm gone. I want you to find happiness. Listen to Harry and Hermione."

Ron would have told her then that Harry was most probably dead by now if she had not groaned in pain. Ron's heart shattered to a million pieces as he pulled her closer to him, his tears dampening the fabric on her shoulder.

There In the dark, crumbling infirmary, Ron Weasley held the love of his life as she died, until the sparkling Nargles settled, covering them both, and the steady sound of beating wings eclipsed the cacophony of battle.

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><p>She watched, suspended above the clearing in the forest by her beating wings, wings with feathers that seemed like watchful eyes, that now closed so frequently. As she was here she was also walking the halls of the castle, the corridors, and grounds, closing the eyes of the dead, and easing them on.<p>

Looking down at the clearing, she looked at the limp forms on the ground. That boy, laying still, glasses glinting in the moonlight, was special. Harry Potter. she fingered the ankh that hung from a silver chain around her neck.

This was wrong. She was supposed to be there, with him. easing him on. He was dead, she could feel it, and yet he was not. She could feel that too. She did not like what this meant. He would not wake, even when she ran her fingers over the line of his jaw, or touched the tip of his nose. He would not move. Yet he would not permit her to ferry him onward . The only thing she could think of was that he was in a place between, a shared domain, in which she was all powerful, while at once having no power. This had not happened in so long, she did not remember protocol. she wasn't sure if protocol even existed for such a situation. She would wait.

Suspended atop the clearing Death waited.

**AN:- Hello all. :Waves: Missed you guys a lot! Thing is, I was hit with a huge case of writers block and had to clear out and redo a few chapters. Mass Defect update is coming soon I promise, just some trimming to be done. I thank you all for sticking with my humble story :Snickers: so far, without you, I wouldn't have the motivation to resume my original work! for this, I thank you from the depths of my heart.**

**As always: Comments, Criticisms, flames, requests all are welcome. Just press that button below right there, yeah that one, and you're good to go!**


	4. Amidst Waves and Cloudless Skies

**Harry Potter and Sandman are not mine. JKR and Neil Gaiman thought of them before me.**

Chapter 3 - Amidst Waves and Cloudless Skies

_In the face  
>Of change<br>That's when she turned to me and said  
>"I'm not sure anymore"<em>

And there  
>Amidst the waves and the cloudless skies<br>That blanket the year before  
>I watch my life wash ashore<p>

_-Rise Against - Everchanging_

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><p>Tom Marvolo Riddle's eyes snapped open, even as he thrashed, gasping for air. He tumbled, limbs flailing, onto a cold floor of roughly hewn wooden planks. His eyes dilated as his lungs scrabbled for air. In a dark corner of his mind, he was aware that he was hyperventilating. Was he to die even before he lived?<p>

And then abruptly, he lay still, limbs and back a faint red, chafed and scratched on the rough planks. He was breathing normally now, his chest rising and falling with each wheezing breath, abdomen rippling and clenching. His eyes stared unseeingly at the browning, canvas roof high above him. That dark part of his mind wondered whether he was finally in hell. _was he?_ it didn't matter. The _details_ didn't matter, he had to act on Dumbledore's words, right now! Only, he couldn't remember what Dumbledore had said to him or Potter. Yes, Potter had been there. He distinctly remembered Potter squeezing his shoulder, but anything after that was a haze. He shivered, it was cold here, wherever _here_ was.

He raised his arms into the meager light that flooded in through a gash in the canvas wall, they looked quite normal, at least they weren't scaly or green! He flexed his fingers and found them quite numb, the cold had started to seep into his bones. Looking down, he noticed with a start that he was completely naked. He let his hands fall to the floor. He lay there, for a few minutes, eyelids closed as he experienced something he'd sorely missed -freezing cold.

When he finally propped himself up on his elbows, His upper arms quivering, his breath billowed in wispy threads of mist. He was shivering, and the light that had seeped in before seemed snuffed out. He was sure, that if he strained, he could hear the crickets chirping outside.

He put his numb arms on the bed -he knew now that he'd fallen off a bed- and pushed himself up. On the first try he fell down in a heap onto the bed, his legs giving way under his weight. He shuddered then, the frozen blankets seemed like cardboard. When he next tried his legs stood, if a bit wobbly, firm. Gritting his teeth, and putting one leg after the other, he eased off the numbness in them by hobbling around the partition he was in, which he presumed was a bedroom.

As he walked -the hobbling had stopped once he'd got some warmth into his midriff- his fifth circuit round the bedroom, he was aware of a small stack of folded clothes on the rickety little end table beside the now frozen bed. He was sure they had not been there when he walked near it before, but when he bowed to examine them, he noticed that droplets of moisture had frozen on them, glinting now like diamonds.

Hurriedly, he pulled the dark blue turtleneck sweater and the baggy olive cargo pants that were a few sizes too big for him. He shuddered, the cold seemed a bit at bay now, though not much. He wondered who had left him the clothes. He wondered whether he should go through the flap and confront whoever it was, or whether it was not smarter to rip a hole in the canvas tent walls -for it _was_ a tent, he understood that- and run. In the end, his curiosity won out, and he argued that if he tried to run in this cold, he would surely freeze, or freeze off some very essential bits.

Cautiously, he pushed open the flap that served as a doorway and slipped out into what seemed like the dining room/kitchen/living room _and_ hall. It was not cold here, and the candles and lamps cast a golden light over everything, making it look like King Midas himself owned the tent. Breathing deeply, he stretched out in the comfortable warmth. 'All My Loving' by the Beatles was playing from a radio hidden somewhere.

"Well, get over here and eat your dinner!"

Tom Riddle nearly snapped his neck as he spun towards the kitchen, his empty hand stretched out in a dueling stance. He was staring directly into the eyes of a extremely pale woman, who he was sure was in her late twenties. Her raven hair flowed down, over her shoulders and onto the black blazer thrown over the black Tee Shirt she was wearing. She was giggling. Curled lips adorned with dark red lipstick that seemed almost black and her dark eyes crinkled, the flourish of eyeliner that curled downward at the middle of the bottom eyelid of her right eye, seemed as if it was laughing at him too.

For the first time in his horrible life, Tom Marvolo Riddle felt something, a lingering warmth in his chest, felt it to manifest at the oddest moment, attached to the oddest person and knew it to irrevocably tie him to them.

"Oh come on! No need to be so dramatic Tommy!"

As he stood dumbfounded, staring at this woman -who was so obviously insane- who he'd never seen before. He felt something tug at his heart, pulling at his heartstrings. Merlin! this was what Potter meant wasn't it?.

He looked at the little wooden table the woman was sitting at. A plate was laid out in front of the chair opposite of her. Various salads and meats were piled high, in an appetizing display. His wand lay, curled up tightly in her right hand.

Smiling some more, she pointed soundlessly at the plate, The fingers on her left hand then forming a gun at him and her right waving his wand at him. He ducked hurriedly as sparks shot above his head and she laughed even harder, Tom found that he wasn't angry at all. On the contrary, he found himself drowning in the melodic waves of her laughter, a mellow smile forming on his lips.

He sat down and started to eat. As he started on the still miraculously warm bacon strips he glanced at the woman, she'd conjured up a top hat and was twirling it in her left hand, while motioning her eyebrows suggestively.

He set down his bacon and took a second to compose himself and then spoke for the first time, in what seemed an eternity.

He had wanted to ask 'how did you do that, conjure the hat?' but what slipped out instead was;  
>"Where are we?" His voice was raspy and cracked.<p>

The woman stopped her antics with the hat and set it firmly on top of her head. "Well, there _are_ trees outside, and finches and woodpeckers flying and pecking around in the morning. and the last time I checked the tent _was_ in the forest of Dean! So, I guess we're still there." She winked at him at the end of it and his stomach fluttered somewhat unnaturally.

He next wanted to ask, '_who_ are you?' but what came out instead was;  
>"What are you? And how did you find me?<p>

The woman smiled at that, somewhat sadly. Her eyes drooping she started playing with a piece of wood that was sticking out of the table. When she spoke again, she sounded somber and contemplative.  
>"Finding you wasn't a problem," she paused, scratching at the table, "I find everybody at the end" the smile slipped as she attacked the stringy piece of wood.<p>

"End of what?" Tom, almost didn't want to know. He had a vague idea by now, and his stomach had started to churn. Staying had been a bad Idea, he should have run.

"Life" she simply stated, and then straightened to look him in the eyes. the slight smile had returned. "I think you know who I am Tom."

Silence. Tom could swear he could hear the wind howling in the treetops a mile away.

"Yes." he rasped, and her smile widened. "You're Death"

Her grin would have made the Cheshire Cat proud. Or maybe the cat had learned it from her. He felt moisture condensing on the back of his neck.

"Are you here to take me away? Onwards?"

She laughed so hard at that and so abruptly that he almost jumped. He stared at her, his mouth hanging agape, as she giggled, almost writhing in her chair. "You _are_ funny!" she gasped finally, "You're definitely gonna make somebody very happy out there." She smiled , "No Tom, I'm not here to take you 'Onwards', at least not just yet." Tom could swear that she was mocking him, slightly. "I have to visit the recently deceased _as well as_ the recently born."

"Born?"

"Yes, born. Honestly, do you _feel_ like you did before?"

"No... I feel... New"

"Exactly." She started drumming at the table, as if that answered everything. Then tom asked the big one;  
>"Then, If you're here, what happens to everyone else dying and being born around the world at this moment?"<p>

The woman - Death, looked somber again. "I am everywhere at the same time Tom, everywhere and at the same time, nowhere." Tom frowned " In fact, I'm at your old school right now, you're hell bent on killing everyone there, impressive body count, in fact!"

"I am not Voldemort." He paused "I don't, feel at all, like Voldemort. I feel... different." He was surprised to find that he was smiling.

Death smiled and Tom had the vague feeling that he'd passed some sort of test.

She slid his wand across the table, he caught it with his left hand, abruptly he noticed the plate had vanished, and surprisingly burst out laughing. He laughed long, and hard, he laughed for the surreality of the situation he was in, for the craziness that surrounded him, and for death, who he'd been afraid of for most of his life. After a few moments he heard her melodic peal joining in too.

"Potter's going to need help." he said, when he'd finally calmed. Death was smiling, like a teacher smiling proudly at her honor student. A very Goth-looking teacher.  
>"Yes, I suppose he will at that."<p>

Tom was aware of the Kingston Trio playing 'Where Have all the Flowers Gone' on the radio, that he finally spotted was on the mantelpiece over the small cooking fire.

_"Where have all the soldiers gone, long time passing?  
>Where have all the soldiers gone, long time ago?<br>Where have all the soldiers gone?  
>Gone to graveyards, everyone.<br>Oh, when will they ever learn?  
>Oh, when will they ever learn?"<em>

The lyrics hung in the air, like swirling mist that clouded everything, Death was smiling. And then, as abruptly as it had begun, it was over. The spell was broken. The song ended with a final _"When will they ever learn?"_ and he stood up.

Death stood up and smiled, making him wonder if she was ever angry. He stretched out a hand, but she shook her head and mock saluted him. "You don't want to do that..." she smiled as he raised a questioning brow. "...If you don't want to go onwards."

He smiled then and snapped off a salute too.  
>"Goodbye Death, I hope I don't see you too soon." and after a while he added; "You're nothing of what I expected, and surprisingly, I'm glad."<p>

She giggled then, one final time, "Call me Didi, Death is so formal, and nah, the next time we meet is probably going to be peachy keen"  
>she winked at him, and then she was gone, and Tom could swear he heard the beating of huge wings.<p>

Tom sighed then as he stood again, alone in the dark. After a while he walked out, pushing the tent flap aside, into a humid, forest dawn. he looked at the scurrying squirrels and the nesting finches, and murmured to himself;

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,  
>Tomorrow I'll miss you;<br>Remember I'll always be true..."

He spun on the spot, whipping his wand to his chest, and with a crack! he was gone. The finches started chirping abuse at the loud noise so early in the morning. After that, the forest of Dean was yet again silent.

He hadn't noticed the trunk that lay under the bed with "Harry Potter" engraved on it in silver. Or the one next to that read "Hermione Granger".

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><p><strong><em>Hey everyone, I know it's been a looong time, but I'm back again! Got me some HP inspiration! Anyway, I edited out the first section of this chapter and added it into the next chapter. And also some Misc edits that have been long overdue. It flows better like that IMHO :)<br>_**

**_PS. Yes I know that Voldemort would off himself before humming a Beatles song. But that itself should show how vast the gulf is between this Tom and Voldemort.  
><em>**


	5. Misery Business

**AN. Harry Potter IS NOT MINE. JKR beat me to it!**_  
><em>

Chapter 4 - Misery Business

_Why do I do it? Am I ashamed of it? Of sparking change?  
>You've built your paper castles in the bloody clouds and now you're asking the wind whether it's ashamed of blowing them away?<br>This is bollocks! Harry was right, you people haven't changed, you probably will never bloody change and the best thing we can do is leave you and your barmy "Magic is Might" until the sodding wizarding society crumbles on its own bloody self.  
>And mark my words, you won't get any help from ME!<em>

- Ronald Billius Weasley, in an interview to respected reporter Rita Skeeter, just weeks before The Incident.

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><p>Ron Weasley was running down the grand staircase, vaulting over dead ends and landing on the staircases that swung freely below him. He was aware of only his objective, the huge front doors that stood opposite the great hall.<p>

He ran along a sixth floor balcony, only to duck into a shortcut (while rudely shoving an indignant picture of a troll) and reappear scrabbling amidst the rubble, from a corridor on the fourth floor. Seeing a staircase aligning itself, he simply heaved himself over it's hardwood rails and tumbled down, arms flailing onto a second floor staircase that abruptly stopped moving. Huffing, he pushed himself up and hopped off, landing with a thud, spread eagled amidst the rubble, on the ground floor.

Soot and the dust that rose from the old bones of broken buildings caked his face. His fiery orange hair was subdued with a myriad shades of gray and ember. He was weeping. The soot mingled with his tears to form a black paste that streaked from his eyelids like rivulets of tar. It looked strangely appropriate, considering that he was feeling particularly murderous.

Harry had gone, the sacrificial lamb dragged bleating into the clearing. Nothing would have changed if he'd been with them, it would probably would have been much worse. No, Harry had left, so that they could live on, and kill that foul bastard.

They had sworn to him, Ron, Neville and _Malfoy_ (Merlin knows why harry even _thought_ of trusting that asinine ferret.) They'd sworn to kill the snake, and protect Hermione. In that he was sure, nothing had changed. He still had a duty to do. He still had to obliterate that snake faced maggot skinned... _thing_.

Only, Luna had died. And his world had ended.

In one fluid movement, Ron pushed himself up, onto his knees and then onto his teetering feet, he gazed around. He had fond memories of this place. Of Harry, Hermione and Him laughing at a prank they'd pulled on the ferret, they'd been bright and young then full of life, not weathered and dull, full of its many cruelties. Now the portraits hung in odd angles, If they hung at all, and huge chunks were missing from the walls, results of curses and jinxes that'd flown everywhere just moments ago. Bricks, ripped paneling and shreds of wallpaper littered the floor, along with about an inch's worth thickness of dust. Even the gargoyles and suits of armor lay, hideously disfigured and groaning amidst a few nameless bodies that sprinkled the floor. Save for them, Ron noticed for the first time, the halls were curiously empty.

Grunting in dismissal, Ron arched his back near the wall and pulled out a tarnished brass claymore from the hands of an unwilling suit of armor. It's head piped up from a few feet away.

"Oh, right. Go right ahead, don't even thank me! Children these days, bloody ungrateful critters if you ask me!"

Ron ignored it. Propping the blade of the sword on his shoulder, he walked towards the Entrance Hall.

Rubble crunching underfoot, he stood before the great doors, and soundlessly pushed them open.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter stirred, he was in a warm, tight place. He stiffened immediately, as a drop of something warm dripped onto his forehead and dribbled down the curve of his cheek. He was aware of someone shouting, the volume faltered, as if emanating from an old un-tuned radio. He was also aware of someone blubbering incoherently, very close. Somebody was carrying him, somebody huge, somebody crying. Hagrid!<p>

He opened his eyes a crack, and had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. Voldemort was standing, dead center on the castle courtyard, his wand pointed at Neville Longbottom, the sorting hat lit ablaze on his head. And then as his eyes fell on the lump of clothes that lay next to Neville and his world tilted on its head.

Hermione Granger lay twitching next to Neville. Golden embers from the dying cap flitted through the air and landed on her brown tresses that were gradually tinting red, robbing from the growing pool around her. She was bleeding, profusely from a few select but deep cuts. She twitched, and her head shifted, and Harry finally locked eyes with hers. Tears had streaked down her cheek. She groaned in pain at the sight of him. Something broke deep inside Harry James Potter.

A guttural roar of rage ripped itself from his throat and flew into the startled air. The curious thing was, he was not alone! He was mildly aware, even as he pounced off Hagrid's gentle arms, of Ron Weasley spinning on the top of the entrance staircase.

And then with an almighty CRACK! All hell broke loose.

Ron appeared right in front of a stunned Voldemort, whipping his signature left hook into the startled Dark Lord's Jaw, all the while yelling incoherently. Harry caught snippets of what seemed like "killed her", "Bastard and "Luna", as he himself landed and pulled out his wand. Just as Voldemort raised his own, Ron disappeared with a blur of his robes.

Behind him, Neville Longbottom had pulled off the flaming hat, his hand reaching in, already grasped firmly on a silver hilt. In one single elegant move, Neville Longbottom pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor and slashed it sideways in a wide arc, beheading the Dark Lord's familiar; Nagini, the final Horcrux.

As Nagini's head spun for what seemed an age, Voldemort screamed, and Harry started to cast.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy stood over Hermione Granger, helping her up. The dark Lord and Potter were dueling a few feet away, and Weasley was clobbering both Bellatrix and the Carrows with a dirty great sword Merlin knows where he found. Granger whimpered, quite pitifully as he pulled her into his arms. He could hear Weasley screaming bloody murder over the din that Potter's bombarda was causing. Pieces of tile, brick and aged cement flew everywhere like flurries of early snow.<p>

Gripping Granger to him, Draco scampered into the entrance hall, dodging Amycus and tripping over Alectus, Her head lolled lifeless, eyes glazed as dark merlot seeped from a long gash along her ribs. Draco ducked as Weasley yelled, and felt a whoosh as Weasley's sword missed him by inches. Turning back, he saw Dolohov's' head rolling away, leaving in its wake, a river of garnet.

Fighting the urge to throw up Draco dragged Granger into the entrance hall, and collapsed in a heap in front of her. Vaguely he was aware of thousands of house elves streaming around them, screaming war cries, they rushed out of the Great doors and into the fray.

* * *

><p>Ronald Weasly swung his claymore in an arc above his head, as he slashed at a tall cloaked figure. The steel blade glinted crimson in the waning sunlight. He was panting, flecks of spit and perspiration flying as he exhaled. His skin was afire, and he felt as if he'd never felt more alive<p>

The Death Eater, screamed as the sword bit through flesh and sinew. He breathed in deep ragged breaths as he clutched his left shoulder, rivulets of crimson springing in between his fingers. His eyes were shifty, searching for an escape that would not come. Scared eyes. Dangerous eyes

But surprising even himself, Ron acted, drawing his wand out, he snapped a diffindo directly at his throat. Another slash from his sword and the death eater crumpled, into the dusty cobblestone walkway.

Ron drew his sword out of the limp figure, its blade a patchwork of glinting crimson lines and rusty patches.

Drawing a deep breath, he steadied himself. Staring around, he saw Hogwarts in all its bitter glory. Silky rays of sunlight throwing it's tall towers into stark relief. Red, green, yellow and blue banners fluttering atop the battlements,

And a rhyme from what seemed an age ago came to his mind.

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
>Teach us something, please,<br>Whether we be old and bald  
>Or young with scabby knees,<br>Our heads could do with filling  
>With some interesting stuff,<br>For now they're bare and full of air,  
>Dead flies and bits of fluff,<br>So teach us things worth knowing,  
>Bring back what we've forgot,<br>Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
>And learn until our brains all rot.<em>

A grim light crept into his eyes as he got to the end, a rueful smile twisting into the lines of his mouth.

They were legion.

The products of a fool's war. The real victims of a victimless age, and the last left standing at the closing of an era... They were legion.

And he'd be damned if they all died before they'd even started to live

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><p><strong>AN: It's short I know. I'm easing back into it :) Tell me how you liked it!<strong>


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